


Vanished Into Air

by paperscribe



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperscribe/pseuds/paperscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "Life Born of Fire", Hathaway is discharged from hospital, resigns, and goes missing.  But Lewis is determined to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wendymr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/gifts).



Though Lewis hadn't been as badly hurt as James had been in the fire, he had been required to take a leave of absence anyway, which he had done with much grumbling and many protests. Today was his first day back, and he poked his head into the office he shared with James first thing to see if he was there.

He wasn't, but Innocent was sitting at his desk.

"Oh, good. I wanted to talk to you," she said. "Close the door."

Lewis did. "Everything all right, ma'am? I expect Sergeant Hathaway won't be in for a few days yet."

"That's what I've come to talk to you about," Innocent said. "He's handed in his letter of resignation."

"Resignation?" Lewis asked, eyes wide. "How could he have resigned? He was only discharged from hospital a few days ago!"

"He came here the day he was discharged," Innocent said.

"And you didn't tell me?" _More to the point, he didn't tell me?_

"The man has been through a traumatic experience in which he was nearly killed," Innocent said.

"You don't have to remind me, ma'am. I was there," Lewis snapped.

"He doesn't need permission from you if he finds the work no longer to his liking," Innocent said, an edge to her voice.

"No, of course not, but…" Lewis shook his head. This was all wrong. "He should've told me!"

"Maybe he was afraid of disappointing you," Innocent said, not unkindly.

"I would've understood." Lewis was reeling. How could James have resigned three days ago? More to the point, why would he resign? He'd been so bloody determined to see the McEwan case through it had nearly killed him. Why would he give up on the job now?

"Go see him," Innocent said. "Talk to him. It might do him good to know you understand."

Lewis gave her a wary look. "Are you sure, ma'am? It's my first day back and all…"

She shook her head. "I know you. You'll spend the entire day wondering what's happened to him anyway. You may as well go now." She shooed him toward the door.

Lewis didn't need to be told twice. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

***

The blinds were drawn at James's flat, and when Lewis knocked, there was no answer.

"May I help you?"

Lewis turned to see a sweet-looking, rosy-cheeked elderly woman walking her dog.

"I'm looking for the man who lives here. James Hathaway?" Lewis asked, wondering if she knew him.

"You won't find him here," the woman said. "He's gone."

A cold chill ran along Lewis's spine. "What d'you mean he's gone? On holiday?"

The woman shook her head. "I saw him leave with a car full of things a few days ago. Looked as though he was moving away."

He'd resigned and packed up his things and…gone? "That's not possible."

The woman laughed. "Possible or not, dearie, it's true. There's a cleaning service coming later today. Flats like this go quickly these days."

Lewis thought he might be sick. "Thank you."

He walked back to his car, dazed. James had gone without telling anyone why or where he was going. But why? Was he embarrassed? Was he upset? What could've possibly been going on in that oversized brain of his that would make him do this? 

Lewis didn't know. If their last case had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that he didn't know anything about James Hathaway.

***

Innocent folded her arms. "Let me see if I understand you correctly. You want to go on leave for an indefinite amount of time to find Sergeant Hathaway."

Lewis nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"At this point, he may not want to be found," Innocent said.

"I'm aware of that, ma'am. If it's his privacy he wants, he'll have it. After everything that's happened, I just want to be sure he's safe."

Innocent shook her head. "It's an admirable goal, Robbie, but…"

"I won't bother him. If he's off living on the coast in Cornwall somewhere, good luck to him. I won't even say hello. But if they find him at the bottom of a river two months from now because I didn't…" He can't finish the sentence. He can't even finish the thought in his own mind. 

Innocent was silent for a long moment. "You understand I can't give any sort of official police approval to this…project of yours. However, if you take a leave of absence, what you do while you take it is your own business."

Lewis sighed in relief. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll be back soon as I can."

Innocent nodded. She didn't look terribly pleased…but then, Lewis wasn't sure she was ever terribly pleased with him anyway. So it all came out in the wash.

He had to make some phone calls.

***

"Bill? Hi. This is Robbie Lewis."

"Robbie!" Bill was a boisterous Scotsman whose telephone voice was so loud you had to hold the receiver away from your ear so he didn't deafen you. "How are you?"

"I'm all right. Listen, I need your help with something."

"Of course. What can I do?"

"There's this friend of mine. He's had a rough time of it lately. Resigned from his job and packed up his things without a word to anyone."

"Disappeared himself, eh?"

"Something like that, yeah. His name's James Hathaway. Tall bloke--six-foot-three--and blond. Skinny. I've got a picture I can send you. I'm worried about what might've happened to him, and I wonder, if you see him…"

"I'll spread the word among my men. And put extra patrols on the usual suicide locations."

Suicide. Lewis felt his stomach twist at the thought. James was Catholic, wasn't he? According to what he believed, suicide was a mortal sin that would condemn him to damnation…but maybe James thought he was damned anyway, and in that case, one more mortal sin wouldn't make a difference. Once, Lewis would've said James wasn't the sort to commit suicide. Now he found he didn't know.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Robbie." Bill sounded contrite. "It's been a busy day, and I'm completely puggled. What I meant to say…"

"Just…if you find him in one of those places, don't let him jump," Lewis said wearily.

"Course not. We'll find your friend, Robbie. See if we don't. I'll have a chat with the heads at the surrounding stations too. We'll all be on the lookout."

"Thanks, Bill. I knew I could count on you."

Lewis hung up the phone and crossed Bill's name off the list. That was all of them--everyone still in policing across the UK and Ireland he'd ever met, befriended, bumped into, or vaguely known about the existence of. He'd been on the phone nearly nonstop for the past four days, getting the word out, telling everyone about James. If James were still here, someone would see him. Someone would know. And also, probably a lot of tall blond blokes were in for unnecessary questioning. But Lewis didn't care about that if it meant he found James.

That did assume, of course, that James hadn't left the country. But if he'd left the country, he might've gone anywhere, and no one at the airport was likely to remember one man of the thousands who flew out every day. Lewis had to hope, for the sake of his own success, that James was still in the British Isles somewhere.

Lewis looked down at his hands, which were trembling uncontrollably, and realised he'd had nothing but black coffee for the past eight hours. He'd be no good for finding James if he didn't eat something. Lunch first…was it lunchtime? Lewis peered out the window, but it was dark. Mm. Probably not lunchtime. Either breakfast or supper time, and Lewis had no idea which. Might as well be lunch. Not as if the time of day cared what meal he had.

He'd have lunch, and then he'd go for a drive.

***

Lewis didn't exactly know where he was going. He'd left his mobile number with everyone he'd spoken to and had asked to be contacted if there was any news of James; since he didn't have to go home to check his messages, he didn't have to be home at all. As James had slipped away so suddenly and without telling anyone, Lewis knew the chances were remote that James would appear on his doorstep while he was away. 

If James didn't want to be found, and the odds were good that he didn't, Lewis would find him discreetly and then pretend he hadn't found him. James was a grown man, not a child, and if he wanted to be left alone, Lewis would respect that. Long as that was all it was, and not…something worse. Lewis tried not to think about the 'something worse', but sometimes it was all he could think about.

_You wouldn't let my saving you be for nothing, would you, lad? Tell me you wouldn't._

He went about his business methodically. Every town he went to, he checked in with the local law enforcement. Some of them he'd spoken to already; some of them he hadn't. Some were eager to help; some were suspicious and wanted to know why he was looking for someone who hadn't bothered to tell him where he was going. Lewis told them the truth, but some of them didn't believe him, and he knew he would never win over those people, and that if James sought refuge there, Lewis would never hear about it. He had to accept that, he knew.

Sometimes he agreed with them. This was mental, and he was probably mental for doing it. But he'd refused James help when he had needed it, and he was doing the only thing he could to try to set it right. The worst thought, the one that nagged at him most, was that this might not be enough, that he might not be able to undo the harm he'd caused.

Days blurred together now. He went from town to city to town again, and he never dared to go home, because what if the next town was the one where James was living, and he missed him? Then he would never know what had happened to him.

Lewis was in Wolverhampton when his phone rang. It was Bill. "Robbie? I think we've got him!"

"Where is he?"

"Been seen in Portobello fairly regularly. Looks like the photo you sent. Does your bloke play guitar?"

It was James. It was; it had to be. Lewis felt suddenly weak with relief. "You've not approached him, have you?"

"No, I told my lads not to unless he seemed likely to do himself harm. All they've seen him do is sit on one of the benches by the beach and play."

"Don't do anything. Don't talk to him…don't do anything till I get there!" Lewis said.

"Thought you said you were in Oxford."

"I'm in the car now. I can be there in five hours."

"There's no rush."

"There is to me," Lewis said. "See you soon, Bill."

"Cheers, Robbie."

Five hours. Five hours, and he would be where James was. And then he could go home and know that he'd done all he could…that James was safe.

***

The drive was agonising, and Lewis ran into bad traffic along the way that had him grinding his teeth for nearly half an hour. Still, he made it to Portobello by early afternoon.

Lewis was surprised to find Bill standing on the beach, hands in pockets.

"You for me?" Lewis asked.

Bill grinned at him, the expression softening his florid face so that it looked friendly. "Knew you'd come here first, and I thought you might be glad of a welcoming face. Other than his, I mean, assuming he's your man."

"Ta," Lewis said.

Bill nodded to the bench. "That him?"

Lewis looked at the figure on the bench, blond, shoulders hunched forward over his guitar, the back of his neck pink from the sun. He didn't have to see his face. "That's him."

"You said not to do anything, so no one's made enquiries," Bill said.

"That's good. He might…leave again if anyone did. I don't know."

Bill gave Lewis an assessing look. "Who is he to you, Robbie?"

Lewis hated questions liked that. How did you explain it to someone else? He couldn't even explain it to himself. "A friend. Someone I didn't help when I should have."

Bill looked sympathetic. "Making up for it, eh?"

Lewis sighed. "Trying."

Bill waited. "Well?"

"Well?"

"Thought you were going to talk to him."

Lewis shook his head. "I don't think he'll want to see me."

Bill looked exasperated. "You've never driven to Scotland in one day just to turn round and drive home again without speaking to the man." He gave Lewis a shove. "Go on. If he runs, I'll stop him."

"Oh, that'll make him feel safe," Lewis said.

"Not my job to make him feel safe, is it?" Bill said. "Go on. You're stalling now."

Lewis walked tentatively toward the bench. As he moved closer, he could hear the complex guitar melody James was playing. It was lovely. Ordinarily, Lewis would've taken a seat on the bench beside his sergeant, but today, he didn't dare. Instead, he walked to the railing, leaning against it and staring at the beach as he tried to work out what to say. 

"Nice day, innit?"

Lewis turned, surprised that James was addressing him. The sun seemed to be shining in James's eyes a bit, and he was squinting at Lewis. Maybe he couldn't see him. Though…it was strange that James had said 'innit'. That wasn't normally the way he talked.

"Not bad," Lewis said cautiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it didn't. Nothing dropped. James just smiled at him and carried on playing. Lewis felt another prickle down his spine. Something wasn't right. James should be surprised to see him…or unhappy, or angry. He shouldn't be…pleasant. Noncommittal. It was almost as if…

…it was almost as if James didn't know him.

But it was James. Lewis knew that. He'd never mistake his sergeant for anyone else. Was this…did James really not know him, or…? He turned, giving James a thoughtful look. "Have we met before?"

James gave him an amicable smile. "Don't think so, mate."

Another word James never said. He never talked like this. And he genuinely didn't know Lewis. It wasn't recognition and then coldness; there was no recognition at all, even when asked. Lewis turned back to the sea, thinking.

Wait a moment. He'd heard of something like this. Sometimes after traumatic events…people just scarpered, didn't they? They wandered off and didn't remember who they were or where they'd come from. Was that why James didn't sound like himself…didn't seem like himself? 

"You on holiday here?" James asked, and again, Lewis was surprised that James was the one to initiate the conversation.

"Not exactly," Lewis said. "More…looking for something I lost."

James played a minor chord. "Sounds a bit sad."

Lewis gave James a slight smile. "Don't know if it is yet or not."

James nodded, hunching over his guitar further. "Any requests?"

"Just…more of what you've been playing," Lewis said.

James nodded and began to play something else. Lewis wished he knew more about James's sort of music, enough to recognise what it was.

"I'll stay here and busk a bit till sundown, but if you've got the time, we could have a pint after," James said. "You could tell me what you're looking for."

The notion made Lewis feel achy inside. _You, James. I'm looking for you._ "Should I go somewhere else and come back, so I don't scare away any potential investors?"

James laughed at the joke, and even his laugh didn't sound the same. "As you like."

"I'll stay," Lewis murmured. "Haven't spent much time by the sea lately." And staring at it might help him decide what the hell he was going to do now.

He heard Bill approaching before Bill spoke. "Everything all right?"

Lewis turned and gave Bill a warning look. "Fine."

James was watching the proceedings with interest. "Is he in any trouble, officer?"

Bill shook his head. "No, sir. He's just been here a while and I wanted to make sure he wasn't having any trouble."

"He's fine. Keeping me company," James said.

"Very good. Carry on, gentlemen," Bill said, wandering off.

Lewis looked at James, intrigued. "How could you tell he was a policeman?"

James looked vaguely troubled by the question, but shrugged it off. "Who else wanders over and asks if you're all right without knowing who you are?"

Lewis nodded. "There is that."

James played a few more chords before asking, "Did they die?"

Lewis gave James a startled look. "Who?"

"The person you came here to look for," James said.

It was oddly reassuring that James's powers of observation were still intact in spite of his memory loss. It meant he was still in there somewhere…at least, that was what Lewis hoped it meant. The alternative was unbearable…James, the James he knew, posh smartarse James, gone forever.

"I don't know yet," Lewis said softly.

***

James carried their pints over to the table, setting Lewis's in front of him before sitting to nurse his own.

"Sure you can afford this on busker's wages?" Lewis asked.

James smiled. "I live simply, and I've got a bit of savings. Go on, mate."

Lewis sipped his pint, still slightly unnerved by James calling him 'mate'. "How long have you lived here?"

James laughed. "I don't live here. Rent a place down the street."

Lewis's heart thudded in his chest. That was something James might've done before…willfully misunderstand so he could make a joke based on the wording of a sentence. He was still in there. He had to be. "Been here long?"

For a moment, confusion flashed across James's face, but it resolved into amiability after a moment. "All my life."

Lewis's stomach churned. He didn't remember Oxford at all…didn't remember anything. And yet…he seemed happy this way. Happier. Lewis still didn't know that much about James, but he knew he had things in his life he'd probably just as soon forget. And now he had forgotten, and he was happy. Even if Lewis knew how to give James his memories back, which he didn't, would that be the right thing to do? His missing James wasn't more important than James's well-being.

"You're thinking," James said, eyes narrowed in that look he used to get while analysing the facts of a case. "What are you thinking?"

Lewis tried to smile. "About a friend of mine."

James nodded. "The one you followed here."

Lewis nodded.

"Now, when you say friend…" James trailed off meaningfully.

Lewis shook his head. "Not lovers."

James clearly didn't believe him. "Must've been something there, mate, if you're here all the way from the south."

"How do you know that's where I came from?" Lewis asked. If James genuinely didn't remember anything, he'd assume Tyneside. People in Oxford did, even after all Lewis's time there.

Again, that look of unease passed over James's face, and he shrugged. "I have a second sense about these things."

Sixth sense. James would never have got that wrong. Lewis stared at the top of the table, running one finger along the grain of the wood.

"You're a bit lost, yeah?"

 _More than a bit._ "I'll be all right."

James nodded. "Where you staying?"

"Dunno yet," Lewis said. "I'll find somewhere."

James snorted. "Not bloody likely. Tourist town, mate."

Lewis refrained from asking how exactly James had got his flat, then. He might not know the answer. "I can always…"

"Stay with me," James said.

Lewis stared at him. "You don't know me."

James shrugged with one shoulder. "Way I see it, you're a bloke nursing a broken heart who could do with a friend."

Lewis wasn't sure he would define his heart as broken, but the rest was true enough. And…this would be the easiest way to keep an eye on James for a bit, to make sure he was well. If everything seemed all right, Lewis would go home tomorrow. At least he knew what had happened.

"Ta," Lewis said.

***  
Lewis had never pictured James living anywhere like this. 

One thing the McEwan case had taught Lewis was that James cared about appearances, and knew they could be powerful. That explained a lot about James, actually…the suits that were stylish without trying too hard, for instance. At some point, James had learned the value of how things seemed, and he had arranged what he could in his life to make himself seem a certain way. Stylish suits meant professional, in control, competent. Lewis had never been inside James's flat, but he suspected the flat had been like the suits--stylish without being ostentatious. A picture of success. Surround yourself with things like that and maybe even you start to believe the image.

Until something happens to disturb it. Like Will McEwan. James had fought to keep his image intact, but throughout the case, bits and pieces of it had kept crumbling off and falling away. Not a success, then. Not in control. A man who saw himself as having failed a test of character and had never stopped hating himself for it. And the image James had built so carefully was broken, shattered, crumbled to dust.

Which left him here, in this grubby bedsit with water stains on the ceiling and walls and a sheet of cellophane stretched over the window to try to stop it leaking. This James wasn't building an image. This James was surviving.

"May not look like much," James said with a grin, "but it's home."

Lewis nodded, looking round. There didn't seem to be much in the way of personal possessions here. Maybe James had left them in the car? Lewis couldn't imagine James subjecting his precious books to this sort of damp, even if he couldn't remember his past. "Don't have much, do you?"

"Don't need much," James said with a shrug. "I'm a Benedictine, me." He put the kettle on.

"What's that then?" Lewis asked. He knew a bit, but wanted to hear what James would say.

"St Benedict," James said, preoccupied with the kettle. "Wrote rules for monastic living, didn't he? Chapter 33. Nobody's allowed to own anything unless the abbot gives permission."

Lewis's heart thumped hard. "How d'you know that?"

Again, that look of confusion, and again, it was shrugged off. "You learn things here and there."

"Aye, suppose you do," Lewis said, looking for somewhere to sit. There was either the bed or a wooden chair. He took the chair.

James looked over his shoulder and pulled a face. "Yeah, sorry…not used to having company."

"It's all right," Lewis said. "Like you, I don't need much."

James smiled at him. "See? I knew we'd get on."

_We will until you remember who I am. If that happens._

The vague sounds of shouting could be heard outside, and James frowned, stepping away from the kettle a moment. "Can you watch that? I need to see…"

Lewis nodded, crossing into the kitchen area as James moved to the window.

"Sounds like kids, maybe, but I can't quite make out…" James frowned, peering through the window. "It's the bloody cellophane…" Quickly and efficiently, he detached the tape from three sides of the sheet, allowing it to fall to one side so he could see out of the window. Then his breath caught.

Lewis glanced at James, turning his attention from the kettle as he turned the heat off. "All right?"

"Bonfire." James spoke the word in a strained, terrible whisper.

Bonfire? _Fire._ Lewis was across the room in a heartbeat, close behind James but not touching him, waiting to see what would happen.

James took a step backward, covering his face with his hands, moaning, "No. No, _please…_ "

What should Lewis do? What could he do? He hovered helplessly. "It can't hurt you, lad. It's out there, all the way out there, and you're in here."

James dropped his hands, frowning, and then he turned to face Lewis, expression bewildered. "…Sir?"

Lewis's relief was so overpowering that for one mad moment, he thought his knees were going to give out and drop him to the floor. Instead, he nodded. "It's me."

James's gaze travelled round the room without a trace of recognition. "Wh-where…?" He swallowed hard. "Where is this place?"

"We're in Scotland," Lewis said. He didn't understand what had happened, didn't know why James had come back to himself now…but apparently he didn't remember anything from when he hadn't been himself. And James sounded like himself again, his 'posh' voice back in evidence.

James gave Lewis an incredulous look. "Scotland?"

"Portobello," Lewis said with a nod.

James shook his head. "I don't…I can't…"

"You can't remember," Lewis said quietly. "I know."

James exhaled, running his hands over the top of his head. "I left hospital, and…I think…" He gave Lewis a quizzical frown. "Did I resign?"

Lewis nodded.

James looked round the bedsit again and shivered, apparently disturbed by finding himself somewhere he had no recollection of going. "I don't remember…"

"You don't have to remember right now," Lewis said gently. 

James's gaze drifted to the window, and he shivered again. "The fire…"

Lewis rested a hand on James's shoulder, making sure to use enough gentle pressure so that the touch would ground James here and not leave him stranded in the past, or in his memories.

James didn't turn, but he reached across his body, curling his hand around Lewis's until Lewis was holding his hand instead of his shoulder. It was the closest James had ever come to saying _help me_ , and the tightness of his grip suggested that he didn't want Lewis to move his hand away.

Lewis gave James's hand a squeeze to show he understood.

***

James spent the night in his bed. He seemed to sleep, though Lewis couldn't tell for how long. Lewis spent the night sitting in the chair and not sleeping. That didn't matter. His sleep had been sporadic at best since this whole thing had begun. He didn't want to sleep, anyway…he wanted to be awake in case James needed him. He had to be sure he was all right.

James seemed surprised to find him still there when he woke up. "Have you been there all night?"

Lewis nodded.

"I'm sorry. You should've had the bed. I wasn't thinking…" James trailed off uneasily.

Lewis shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me."

James got out of bed. "If I can work out where everything is, I'll make some tea." He paused. "Do…do you know whose flat this is?"

"Yours," Lewis said.

James seemed disturbed afresh by the idea. "Mine." He crossed to the kitchen, finding milk and tea without too much trouble. "Is this kettle clean?"

Lewis nodded. "You boiled water last night but didn't do anything with it."

"I'll boil it again, then," James said. He seemed calm, or would have, if his hands hadn't been shaking visibly. "It's called a fugue state."

Lewis blinked. "What is?"

"What happened to me. Sometimes people wander away from home after a stressful incident. They don't remember their lives while they're wandering, and then when they come back to themselves, they don't remember what they did during their fugues."

"Thought it might be something like that," Lewis said.

James glanced at him. "Have you been with me the whole time?"

Lewis shook his head. "No. You didn't tell me where you'd gone."

James turned, startled. "But…that means…you've been searching for me?"

Lewis nodded unwillingly. This was the part where James expressed his distaste or told Lewis to stop bothering him. Lewis had imagined this often enough.

"Why?"

Lewis looked at James, surprised by the question. "Why?"

James nodded. 

Lewis leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, suddenly exhausted. "I can't talk to you about this."

"That's not fair and you know it." James sounded angry. Seething. "When you're disappointed in me, oh, yes, then you can talk. You can tell me all my failings in every last bloody detail. But after all that, when I want to know why if you're so disappointed in me you came all the way to Scotland to find me, no, you can't talk about that, can you?"

"You're right," Lewis said.

James had clearly not been expecting that. "I what? I'm right?"

Lewis nodded. "You are. Getting angry lets something go inside me. Wish I knew why."

James was quiet for a long moment. "Why did you come after me?"

"I couldn't let you die."

He shook his head. "But I wouldn't have…"

"I couldn't know that. I couldn't be sure."

There was something strange in James's voice. "You thought I was dead and you came anyway?"

"I had to know." Christ, he was tired. "And if you weren't dead, I could make sure you were safe."

"That still doesn't explain how you found me."

"I wouldn't ask that question if I were you. It's not exactly an appropriate use of police resources." He heard James draw a sharp breath, and knew he was surprised at the lengths Lewis had gone to. How little the lad knew him…and wasn't that a sobering thought. "Can't let things go. Not once they're in me head."

Another long silence. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

Lewis shook his head. "I don't care about that."

"You should. I betrayed your trust."

"Think I've got over that by now," Lewis said. "Nothing like your partner being dead to remind you of every time you've ever failed him. And he didn't have the benefit of shouting at you in the street about it."

"So what happens now?"

Lewis shrugged wearily. "Whatever you want to happen."

"I don't want to stay here." James sounded afraid again, and Lewis looked up at him. "How long have I been missing?"

"Three weeks," Lewis said. "I only found you yesterday."

Surprise mingled with shock on James's face, and Lewis couldn't tell whether the shock was that he'd been gone so long or that Lewis had looked for him so long.

"Far as I can tell, you've been busking by the beach every day," Lewis said.

James touched his arm. "I was wondering about the sunburn." He paused. "It's so strange. Knowing I must've done something and not knowing what."

"I can imagine," Lewis said. He paused. "I haven't come to be your minder. You don't have to live in Oxford or be a policeman…"

"I couldn't be one anyway, after this," James said. "Too dangerous."

"You'd get used to it again, if you wanted to," Lewis said.

"I mean for you. You can't risk having a partner with a history of dissociation. What if we were working on a different case that became stressful for me, and I did this again? Even if I wanted to go back, they wouldn't have me."

Lewis hadn't thought of that, but it was probably true. He nodded. "I think the most important question is, what do you want?"

"I want none of this to have happened." James's voice was quiet. "I want to go back and have a second chance."

"Wish I could give it to you, lad," Lewis said quietly. He'd do things differently too. "Wish I could give it to me."

James was quiet for a long, long time. 

"I want to go home," he whispered, voice aching. "Do you think I could…just go home?"

Lewis nodded. "We'll go back today if you like. I can't exactly vouch for the state of your flat…"

"Oh," James said. "Three weeks. It might've been rented to someone else."

"Dunno why you'd want to," Lewis said, "but you could stay with me."

James pulled a face and shook his head. "You wouldn't really…"

"I'd feel better knowing you were safe." He must be tired if he's actually saying things like this aloud. "And together we can work out what you'll do next. What you want to do next."

"Only if I can't get my own flat back," James said.

Lewis nodded. "All right. I can have the car ready…" He stood and the room seemed to wheel round him.

James was beside him in a moment, keeping him steady. "You're exhausted."

"No, no, I'm fine. I've only been awake since Tuesday," Lewis protested.

James checked his watch. "It's Thursday."

"Is it? I wasn't expecting that."

James gave his shoulder a gentle pat. "You're not driving us anywhere. And I don't think I should drive either. We'll find the nearest rail station and take the train back to Oxford, and collect our cars later."

"I'll call Bill," Lewis said, suddenly feeling every bit of the sleep he'd lost. "He can drive us to the station."

James was suddenly wary. "Do I…know Bill?"

"No, but I do," Lewis said. "Policing friend."

James nodded, relieved. "Ah." He glanced at the kitchen. "I never did set the kettle boiling."

"Deposit me in the chair and you can do what you like," Lewis said.

James chuckled, and it was a welcome sound. "Of course, sir. Or would you like the bed?"

Lewis shook his head. "Put me on the bed and I'll sleep. I can't sleep till I know you're safe."

James's expression softened. "I'm safe now. Promise. Tea is not a safety hazard."

"Are you sure?" Lewis paused, then admitted, "I could do with the rest."

James helped him to the bed. "You can call Bill after."

"Mm," Lewis murmured, body instantly relaxing as his head rested upon the pillow. "I can call Bill after."

That was his last conscious thought for a while.

***

Lewis woke with his mouth open and…had he been drooling on James's pillow? Oh, bloody hell. He cleared his throat and tried to look dignified. His body protested that he needed more sleep, but Lewis wasn't interested in that at the moment.

"Are you aware that you snore, sir?" 

Lewis sat up groggily, eyes slowly focussing on a very amused James. "When I'm tired."

James's expression softened, and he nodded.

Lewis rubbed his eyes. "How long was I asleep?"

"Four hours," James said.

Lewis shook his head. "Too long. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You were tired." There was softness in James's voice now.

Lewis swung his legs over the side of the bed. "We've got to get you home. Like I promised."

James was beside him in an instant, in case he lost his balance again, but Lewis didn't have any trouble standing this time.

"Might not have me fine motor skills, but I can walk all right," Lewis said. He fished his mobile out of his pocket and rang Bill.

The only negative aspect of calling Bill was that he would insist on making casual conversation in the car, and neither Lewis nor James was able to partake in said conversation with any degree of effectiveness.

"So everything worked out all right?" Bill asked.

"Yes," Lewis murmured, the motion of the car lulling him half to sleep already.

"That's good," Bill said. "I don't mind telling you, James, your friend here was at his wit's end looking for you."

James looked startled. "That's what he said?"

"That he was at his wit's end? Not in so many words, but…"

"No, I meant…" James looked at Lewis, eyes unreadable. "He said he was my friend?"

"That's what he said," Bill said. "Unless 'friend' means something else in Oxford I don't know about."

Lewis felt as though James's eyes were looking through him, but he was too tired now to work out what they saw. Whatever they saw would have to be all right.

***

Somehow, fatigue and all, they made it onto the train. Lewis had been briefly energised by his nap, but was now beginning to drag again. He kept having to hold onto James's arm to stay on his feet. Luckily, James didn't seem to mind.

"D'you want the window?" Lewis asked him, voice beginning to blur a bit with exhaustion.

James shook his head. "No, you can have it."

Lewis slid into the furthest seat, and James took the seat next to Lewis. Lewis stared blearily at James, surprised.

"You want to sit next to me?" Lewis asked. "Are you sure?"

James gave him a warm look. "Can't I sit next to my friend?"

Lewis felt the same sort of relief he'd felt upon discovering that James was all right. "Course you can." He leaned over so that his head rested on James's shoulder. "Will you wake me? When we're home?"

"I will," James said softly.

Lewis sighed and finally, for the first time since this nightmare had begun, let himself rest.


	2. In Search of Lost Time

Lewis was still yawning a fair amount when they reached his flat. He seemed to be able to walk all right after sleeping on the train, but James noticed Lewis did have a somewhat compromised sense of direction; he kept veering to one side and bumping into James.

"Here we are," Lewis said, covering another yawn with the back of his hand.

James hovered at the doorway. Part of him knew Lewis wouldn't have offered to let him stay if he hadn't meant it, but James was still in such turmoil that it was difficult to be sure of anything at the moment.

Lewis must've sensed his hesitation, because he turned round and gave James an encouraging look. "Come in," he said, and his voice was so gentle James had crossed the threshold before he'd known he was going to.

"I could do with some rest," Lewis said. "Probably you could too. What d'you want, the sofa or the bed?"

"Whatever won't put you out, sir," James said, retreating behind etiquette as he always did when he was unsure of himself.

Lewis gave James a penetrating look. "I'll take the sofa." He inclined his head toward the bedroom. "Bed's in there. Don't suppose you need any help."

"They did cover how beds work at Cambridge," James said, and was he really still going to do this? Make jokes and pretend to be a snob and act as though nothing had changed…as though he hadn't changed?

Lewis didn't laugh, didn't even smile. He gave James another assessing look and then nodded. "Right."

James fought the urge to apologise. He felt like apologising every thirty seconds and half the time he didn't know why. He made his way to the bed, feeling out of place in this flat in these clothes. He'd searched the flat in Portobello this morning…his flat, apparently…for his suits, but had no idea where they might be, or even if he'd kept them. So he'd had to wear the clothes that were there…clothes he didn't remember owning.

That was the worst of it. The business with Will and Zoe and the row…that had been enough to convince James that he had set light to his present and had rendered it completely unsalvageable. But waking up in a strange flat in a strange city in strange clothes and not knowing how he had gotten there…that was terrifying. And learning three weeks had gone missing and were completely obliterated from his mind…he didn't like to think about it. Which was just as well, because apparently he couldn't think about it.

James wanted and didn't want to know what he had done in those three weeks. He might have thought he was anyone; he might have done anything. Awful things, all wiped clean. He understood the other bit--why he would want to forget this, himself, everything that had happened recently. (Not as recently as it felt, though--he had to keep reminding himself of that.) But he didn't understand why his mind would ever let him come back from that lovely emptiness, that newness with all his past mistakes erased. His conscious mind certainly wouldn't have.

And somehow, in the midst of all this mess, there was Lewis. Lewis, who had either left work or had gotten some sort of permission to search for James until he found him, who had apparently used every police contact he had to find James and make sure he was all right. James didn't understand that sort of loyalty; no one had ever shown it him before. Why would Lewis fight so hard for him?

_Maybe he knew I wouldn't fight for myself,_ James thought, and that frightened him most of all.

He took off his shoes and slipped beneath the covers with his clothes on, but he knew he wouldn't sleep.

***

A few hours later, Lewis knocked on the door.

"Come in," James said quietly.

Lewis came in, looking worlds better. "Did you sleep at all?"

James shook his head.

"Come on," Lewis said, gesturing for James to join him. "I've made us some tea."

James moved silently into the living room, easing onto the sofa. "Did you get to sleep at least?"

Lewis nodded. "Did the trick, thanks." He poured them each a cup of tea. "Don't think I know how you take yours."

James opened his mouth to reply, but…how did he take his tea? With lemon, to fit in with his mates at school? Milk and sugar, to seem normal, like everyone at the nick? Milk and no sugar, the way he actually liked it? No sugar and no milk, because he knew that was the only way his dad wouldn't be angry with him? Which one was it? How was he supposed to be now? "I…I don't…"

Lewis looked at James in surprise, but his surprise turned to sympathy, so James knew he must look sufficiently emotional. That was something else…his ability to keep his emotions hidden was usually much better than this, but he found he couldn't manage it now. He had no control left; it was shattered in a million pieces, just like everything else about him.

"It doesn't matter, lad," Lewis said softly, carrying the tea, milk, and sugar over to him. "Fix it as you like." He sat with his own cup beside James, making a point of not watching James so he didn't feel as though his tea choices were being scrutinised. James picked up the milk--milk, no sugar--but his hands were shaking so badly he chipped the edge of the cup by banging the edge of the jug against it.

"Shit," James said. "Sorry."

Lewis shook his head. "There's nothing here can't be mended."

_There's me,_ James thought, setting down the jug. He didn't dare lift his cup; he'd probably splash tea all over the floor and the sofa and himself. For some reason his hands hadn't stopped shaking since he'd gotten up today.

"You said you found me yesterday," James said, trying to sound nonchalant. 

"Drove into town and found you busking by the beach," Lewis said. "You didn't know me."

James could only imagine how he would feel if he happened upon Lewis somewhere and Lewis didn't recognise him. "Did that worry you?"

"Course it worried me. I thought…" Lewis seemed to remember who he was talking to, and stopped, looking suitably awkward.

"No, go on," James said. He wanted to know the worst of it, whatever that might be.

"I thought you were lost," Lewis said awkwardly, taking a sip of tea to hide whatever feelings might otherwise cross his face. 

_I was lost. I still am._ But he couldn't say that, could he? He could never say anything real about himself. He could only tell lies and paint glowing pictures of himself, of Saint James of Hathaway. Except now Lewis had seen a rock go through the canvas. Maybe more than one.

Lewis rested a tentative hand on James's shoulder. "I'm happy to have you back. This you. The you I know."

James attempted a smile. "Was I very different?"

"A bit," Lewis said. "You were friendly enough. Seemed to like me. Invited me for a pint and then back to your flat."

James looked at Lewis in alarm. "I…I didn't…"

Lewis shook his head. "You didn't proposition me, lad, no. You saw I was upset and tried to help."

"I always try to help. Look what good it does," James muttered, half to himself.

"We all make mistakes," Lewis said.

"Most of our mistakes don't kill our friends." His own voice sounded strange to him…caustic, self-mocking. Was this him, this anger? He didn't know.

"Will McEwan killed Will McEwan. You didn't." Lewis's voice was firm.

"Zoe thought I did. She told me I had." And if anyone had known, if anyone had seen what had happened to Will, what he had become, what James had done to him, it would have been Zoe.

"Zoe was wrong about a lot of things," Lewis said. "And you saw how willing she was to lie. She lied to you. She lied to me. I think she would've done anything necessary to hurt you before she killed you."

James shook his head, thoughts churning. "That's not true. She sedated me so I wouldn't be hurt. So I wouldn't feel the fire. She told me."

"She didn't drug you so you wouldn't be hurt. She drugged you so you couldn't get away," Lewis said. "If she hadn't, you could've run."

"I'm not sure I would have." The words fell heavily into the space between them.

When Lewis spoke again, he sounded genuinely shaky. "You're not saying you would've…"

James shook his head. "I don't know." He hunched forward, staring at the table, at his tea. "You don't know what it's like, having this horrible thing inside you and watching it decay and rot every day."

"What thing is that?"

"It was bad enough when I thought I'd only given him bad advice," James said, his voice barely a whisper. "But when I saw his body lying there…when I knew what I'd truly done…"

"You were one voice in a life full of them," Lewis said gently. "You made a bad mistake. But it was a mistake. Would you do it the same way now, knowing what would happen?"

"No!" The thought almost left James breathless. Give Will the same advice, knowing…knowing…no. He shook his head, still hunched forward, rocking himself slightly back and forth. No, he couldn't. Of course he couldn't.

"Don't disappear, James."

James turned his head quickly to look at Lewis. "What?"

"You keep making yourself smaller," Lewis said, hunching forward slightly himself to demonstrate. "Trying to disappear. I don't want you to disappear."

_But I do._ James shook his head, unable to answer aloud.

Lewis's hand moved, arm slipping round Hathaway's shoulders in a half-hug. "I hate seeing you do this to yourself. I hate seeing you in pain and knowing I can't do anything."

"I'm sorry," James whispered, feeling ashamed of himself for putting Lewis through so much and even now being so ungrateful.

"Stop that," Lewis said. "You're not responsible for everything in the world. I'm telling you I want to help and all you can hear is you're doing something wrong. You have to listen to me, James. Listen to what I'm really saying and don't twist it round so you're always in the wrong."

James would never be able to say how grateful he was for those words…for that kindness…but he was, all the same. He fought with himself, fought to say something that mattered. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I…" He shook his head miserably. "Nothing's solid. Nothing's…steady. Me least of all."

He expected Lewis to pull away or say he was barmy, but Lewis's arm tightened round him, and Lewis's hand rubbed up and down his arm comfortingly.

"I'm sorry, I'm…not making any sense…"

"Of course you are," Lewis said firmly. "I can't imagine what you've been through this past month, James. Anyone would feel vulnerable. Lost maybe. But I know you can find yourself again. And I'll help you any way I can."

"Why?" James asked.

Lewis sighed softly. "You still have to ask? After everything that's happened?"

James shook his head. "I've done terrible things to you and you keep trying to help me."

"Done terrible--?" Lewis tapped James's shoulder gently. "Look at me, James."

James reluctantly turned his head to meet Lewis's eyes and he saw…no recrimination. No anger. No irritation or ill feeling. There was only softness and sadness and care in that gaze. James couldn't speak, couldn't move. Everything James had done…and Lewis could still look at him like that. _My friend._

James was running out of ways to say thank you. He simply moved closer to Lewis and hoped he understood.

***

James woke in the middle of the night and didn't know where he was. His heart felt as though it were slamming against his ribcage as his eyes scanned the unfamiliar room. Bedroom. Someone's bedroom. Possibly his. How long had it been this time? How much time had he lost?

It was the sound from the other room that reminded him what had happened…the very distinct sound of Lewis snoring. Lewis was here. Oh. This was…this was Lewis's flat, wasn't it? It was the same day. He'd gone to sleep and awakened in the same place, on the same day. James closed his eyes, suppressing a shiver at the thought of losing more time. Then he got up to use the loo.

Lewis had stopped snoring by the time James emerged. "All right, lad?"

"Fine, sir," James said softly. "Thank you."

"Heard you shuffling and thought you might be going out to have a smoke."

"I don't smoke," James said automatically.

Lewis sounded surprised. "No?"

It was Lewis's surprise that made James realise fully what he'd said. He didn't smoke? He'd smoked since he was 16. And yet…James hadn't had anything in his pockets when he'd left the flat in Portobello, and there had been no ashtrays in the place. Not only that, he'd been fully himself more than 24 hours now, and he'd had no nicotine cravings at all. Sometime in that three weeks, he must've quit. And it had stuck.

"Apparently I quit in Portobello," James said, and his voice sounded faint even to his own ears.

He heard the sofa creak. "Come here, lad. Sit with me a bit."

James was glad of the company, and carefully worked his way to the sofa in the dark, sitting next to Lewis. The sofa was still warm where Lewis had slept; James found that oddly comforting.

Lewis's hand on his shoulder was comforting too. "It's strange still. Isn't it?"

James nodded, then realised Lewis probably couldn't see him. "Yes."

"Tell me," Lewis offered.

But James couldn't. He didn't know how to talk about it in his own mind; how could he tell Lewis what was happening, what it felt like? "I didn't seem…ill to you? When you met me the other day?"

"What, before you remembered? No, you didn't seem ill. You were very calm. Very observant. You talked differently though."

James felt slightly chilled. "Differently?"

"Mm, you weren't quite so posh. Kept calling me 'mate'. Reminded me a bit of an old chief super of mine."

James felt an irrational panic course through his body. Not quite so posh. No, of course not. Another secret gone, another defence cut down. He wouldn't have any left. Lewis must know. He must've worked it out, what James's past was like. He knew James was a fraud. He knew he was a liar. Well. He'd known that anyway, but it was just…doubled and redoubled now.

"James. James." Lewis's voice was quiet, soothing, perhaps pitched to be so, and Lewis's hand was firm on James's shoulder now. "What is it?"

James felt as though he barely had the breath to talk. "You know everything then."

"I don't," Lewis said gently. "I only know what you tell me. And you don't have to tell me anything. I know how private you are." He paused. "You hate this, don't you? Me knowing as much as I do?"

Given all Lewis had done to help, James was ashamed to tell the truth. But he did. "A bit. It's not you."

"I know," Lewis said. "Have to admit, I don't exactly know where to stand between giving you privacy and keeping close in case you need me."

"I'm afraid I can't help with that," James said quietly. "This is all new to me."

Lewis patted James's shoulder. "Me too."

James reached back and touched Lewis's hand where it sat. "I think it might be best if…if you weren't too far away."

A rustling sound, and then Lewis's warmth was right beside him. "I'll stay close then."

James moved tentatively to one side until he was leaning against Lewis. He half expected to be pushed away, but Lewis's hand moved to his back, resting there.

"That's right," Lewis said, his tone soft and comforting. "You rest, lad. Rest how you need to."

James had to admit, if only to himself, that he was exhausted. He closed his eyes, breaths deepening. He was tired of being afraid…and Lewis wouldn't let anything bad happen. James could feel Lewis's warmth around him now, like a protective shield in place of all the illusions and misdirections James had once used to shield himself. He'd never felt so warm before.

He slept.

***

James woke to the familiar sound of Lewis snoring. They were sprawled in what could vaguely be called sitting positions on the sofa, though James had apparently tipped to one side in the night such that he woke with his arms tightly about Lewis and with his head against Lewis's shoulder. He closed his eyes. He should move, of course, but he didn't want to. Besides, Lewis was still sleeping and James didn't want to disturb him.

He had no idea how long they stayed that way, Lewis sleeping, James with his eyes closed. But eventually the snoring stopped, and James felt a gentle hand on his back.

"Are you awake?" Lewis asked softly.

James nodded, opening his eyes. "Mm-hmm."

"How do you feel?"

James shrugged. He wasn't ignoring the question; he didn't exactly know how he felt. "Better than yesterday."

"Good," Lewis said. "I thought you should choose what we do today."

James sighed. "We should go to Portobello and get our cars."

"Oh?" That was clearly not the answer Lewis had expected.

"We have to go soon, while I can still convince myself to go at all," James said.

Lewis patted his back sympathetically. "Of course. I think we should have breakfast first though. Sound all right?"

"Sounds fine," James said, wishing Lewis didn't have to move. Still, he pulled back and let Lewis go.

***

Bill met them at the train station to take them to Portobello. "I'm not a taxi service, you know. Even though I may seem like it."

"No one would ever assume you were, Bill," Lewis said, tone light and frivolous. 

James didn't say anything. He didn't want to say anything, not when Bill was there. Lewis and Bill were friends--James knew that--but even if James had wanted to talk in front of Lewis, what he would have said would have been meant for his governor alone. Faced with friendly effusiveness, James could only shrink and fall silent.

"You all right, lad?" Bill asked.

"Bill," Lewis said with such a note of warning in his voice that both Bill and James looked at him in surprise. 

_He's protecting me,_ James thought, and felt a bit overwhelmed by the notion.

Once Bill had left them with his compliments, James and Lewis walked along the beach. James kept looking for something that seemed familiar, anything, but there was nothing. He felt as though he'd never been here before.

"My car's there," Lewis said, gesturing. 

A woman hurried over to the two of them, waving to James as though he were a bus she was trying to catch. "I wondered where you'd been. Looked for you in your usual place and you weren't there."

"Yeah, I…haven't been well," James said, entirely truthfully. Was it his imagination, or…was his accent starting to go? Please, no, not here, not in front of everyone. Not in front of Lewis.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman said. "Listen, I just wanted to say thank you. It's brilliant."

"You're welcome," James said, though he had no idea what he was being thanked for.

The woman turned to Lewis. "I was a wreck because my car needs mending and I had to get to my job, and he sold me his for a song. Who does that? It's mental!"

He'd done what? Sold her his car? James felt ill. That meant…all his things, all his books, his clothes…none of it could be in his car. Everything he'd collected, everything he'd treasured…gone.

"Excuse us," Lewis said politely, steering James away from the woman. "We've got an appointment."

"Oh, yeah, sure," the woman said. "Thanks again!" She jogged away in the opposite direction.

James clutched Lewis's arm, needing something to steady him.

"If this is too much, we'll go home," Lewis said quietly. "We'll go back to my flat and I'll ask someone to bring my car."

James took one deep breath and then another. No. He could do this. He would do this. They just needed to collect his things from…from that flat (James couldn't call it his flat, even now) and get in Lewis's car and go home. "I'm all right."

"You'd tell me if you weren't?" Lewis asked.

Even now, James's first instinct was to say no. Instead, he gulped a breath and said, "I'd try."

Lewis's expression softened, and he guided James to the flat, as James didn't quite remember where it was.

A thorough examination of the contents of the flat found a tiny selection of books, a similarly tiny selection of clothes (and one conspicuously lacking all James's work attire--suits, shoes, ties), and a few battered kitchen implements. The belongings James had kept in his fugue state barely filled two small boxes.

"This is it," James said quietly, looking at the boxes and the now-empty bedsit. "All that's left of me."

"Not of you, surely," Lewis protested.

"It might as well be," James said fiercely. "This tiny collection of things that don't mean anything any more. Stupid! Meaningless!" He picked up a used-looking teacup, which lay atop the box, and hurled it hard as he could at the wall, smashing it to bits. "Useless!"

"Well, it is when you smash it against a wall like that," Lewis said.

James pointed to the fragments, the anger still bubbling away inside him. "That's me over there. I smashed into a wall and now I'm _broken_ . And useless, literally. Without a use. The only thing I was ever good at, I can't do any more. The only person I ever wanted to think well of me now knows every secret I have, every terrible thing I've ever done." He was breathing heavily now, and gestured at the shattered teacup, some of the anger fading. "I can't even find all the pieces of me. How can I ever be mended?"

Lewis was looking at him steadily, and suddenly James couldn't bear being on the receiving end of such a look. He turned away, back to Lewis, trying to collect himself but knowing it was an impossible task, especially the way he felt now. "I can't be mended."

He heard Lewis approach him and then came that warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, just as it had come two days ago when he had been at his most lost.

"You can't be made unbroken," Lewis said softly. "But I don't believe for a minute you can't be mended."

The kindness was too much for him. James bent forward and began to cry.

Lewis didn't say anything. He simply held onto James's shoulder, never letting James forget he was there.

***

They packed the boxes in the boot of Lewis's car and then started for home. James offered to drive, but Lewis insisted that he was better rested today. Lewis was also, James thought privately, less likely to burst into floods of tears than James was. He thought he might be cried out, but it didn't seem safe to make that assumption at this point.

"Thank you for coming with me," James murmured.

"You didn't honestly think I'd make you go alone," Lewis said.

James shook his head. "I might've thought that about some people. Not you." He sighed. "I can't believe I sold my car."

Lewis chuckled. "You'll get a new one."

"With money from where?" James asked. "It's not as though I'm gainfully employed, and I've probably gone through a fair amount of my savings, assuming I remembered where it was."

"Well, what do you want to do?" Lewis said. "Do you want something similar to what you used to do or do you want to start fresh?"

James considered the question for a long time. "I liked being a police officer. I'll be sorry not to be."

"What about it did you like?" Lewis asked. "Would you have to be on the beat, or could you manage desk work and still enjoy it?"

James frowned, tipping his head to one side. "I hadn't thought about desk work."

"It wouldn't be as exciting, I know," Lewis said.

James shuddered. "I don't want any more excitement. I'm not sure I want any ever again."

"Can't promise you that," Lewis said.

James smiled slightly.

Lewis glanced at him, then sighed.

"What?" James asked.

"It's the first time you've really smiled since you've been back," Lewis said. "I'm glad to see it, that's all."

The thought filled James with warmth. Lewis was happy to see him smile.

"Do you think," James said after a moment, "that if I went in to talk to Innocent, she might consider letting me come back to work? Something like you've mentioned?"

"I think she would," Lewis said. "I could come with you if you liked. Moral support and all."

"Please," James said. "It'll be…strange, going back there now."

Lewis nodded. "Anything you need, James, you only have to say."

James looked at Lewis, really looked at him, and then smiled his second smile of the day. "I know."


	3. The Mirrors of the Soul

The day after they'd been to Portobello and had brought back James's things, Lewis thought it might be a good idea to try for a more relaxing day. Who knew if it would actually be relaxing, but at least they could make a start. Lewis was still sleeping on the sofa--rather fitfully, but actually sleeping, which was more than he'd done while James had been missing. He hoped James would never work out that he'd chosen the sofa so that he would hear if James left…so he could follow if whatever had told James to run before told him to run again.

Lewis hoped there wasn't much chance of that, and he knew every day that passed with James staying would reassure him more and more. After that first sleep-deprived day, he hadn't said much about his side of things during James's absence, because he knew exactly what James would do in response. He'd feel guilty and take the blame for the whole bloody thing, and Lewis didn't want that. While it was probably true that Lewis would never have been as anxious as he had been if James hadn't gone missing, it was also true that he would have worried about James anyway, in the aftermath of the McEwan case. You didn't just shake off having a partner nearly burn to death or suffocate from smoke inhalation…and you didn't wish you could, either, not if you really cared about him.

Lewis could've done without closing his eyes and still being able to smell the smoke, though…or being able to feel the weight of James over his shoulder. James had hardly seemed to weigh anything at all…though that might've been the adrenaline at work. 

But there was no point thinking about it. Lewis had a job to do, and that was to take care of James. He'd telephoned Innocent to let her know James was safe, and had requested a bit more time…just until James was ready to come in and speak with her. Innocent had agreed. She'd been stalwart through this whole business…Lewis knew he owed her a fairly significant show of gratitude once he was back on the job. He'd work out what that show of gratitude might be later.

He opened his eyes to see James hovering in the doorway. "How long have you been there?"

James shook his head. "A minute. Maybe two. I wanted to be sure you weren't asleep before I started banging pots and pans in the kitchen."

"Bang away," Lewis said. "I can sleep through anything."

James nodded. "I thought if it was all right, I'd make you breakfast."

"You don't have to earn your keep," Lewis said gently.

"No, I…I want to," James said. "I want to do something for you." In exchange for what you've done for me, went the unspoken bit of the sentence.

Lewis smiled at him. "Thanks."

James held up his hands, and it took Lewis a minute to see what he was supposed to--that they weren't shaking. "So I'll actually be able to make you omelettes without half the shell in the pan."

"I always make it with the shell in," Lewis mock-protested.

It took James a moment to realise that was a joke, but when he did, he laughed silently. "I could of course make an exception for you, sir."

"Oh, never mind, make it without shells," Lewis grumbled. It was good to be joking with James again. It was good that James felt as though he could joke again.

James gathered the ingredients for omelettes from the fridge. "Frying pan?"

"Lower left cupboard," Lewis said. "You want me to help?"

"No! The point of this is to spoil you a bit. It's not spoiling you to make you help with breakfast." James proceeded briskly with his omelettes. "Could we go for a walk today?"

Lewis nodded. "Course we could. Feeling a bit confined?"

James shook his head. "No. It's like yesterday…if I stay in here too long, I won't be able to make myself go anywhere else when I should."

The lad knew a lot about fear and what he needed to counteract it. Lewis wondered how often James had had to hide being afraid of something, or to work round it. James would never tell him, of course, and Lewis would never ask. None of his business.

"Where would you like to go?" Lewis asked.

"Fancy a ramble through Christ Church Meadow?"

Lewis wondered if James found the presence of the boathouses and the rowers comforting. He nodded. "And if I remember, there's a book shop not far from there."

"Looking for anything in particular?" Hathaway's voice had a smile in it.

"Mm, looking to buy a present for a friend who's had a few books go missing," Lewis said.

James turned to face him, startled. "You don't have to…"

"I know how you are about books," Lewis said.

James gave him a tentative smile. "Well…thank you. But you still don't have to."

"No more than you had to make breakfast," Lewis said.

James's mouth twisted in a wry smile, and he nodded, acknowledging Lewis's point. "Touche, sir."

***

The ramble through the meadow was nice. For the most part, James didn't feel the need to talk, and Lewis followed James's lead. The silences were all right between them anyway--they always had been. They never felt stilted or strained; it was simply understood by both James and Lewis that they were thinking and enjoying the quiet.

When they reached the edge of the meadow, Lewis gestured. "The book shop's called St Philip's. It's just…"

"…over there," James said, looking slightly puzzled.

Lewis tipped his head to one side. "Have you been there before?"

James shook his head. "I must've seen it in passing."

They entered the book shop, but James didn't seem to recognise the place. Lewis knew this was the sort of place James would like--new and secondhand things both, but with a heavy emphasis on theology, history, and philosophy.

"Hello," said the woman working at the front of the shop, and then she brightened when she saw James. "Oh, it's you! Hello!"

The woman wasn't close enough to see the panic in James's eyes, but Lewis was. 

"You must've mistaken me for someone else," James said, but his words were thin and wispy, as though he couldn't quite take in enough air.

"I don't forget a purchase like that," the woman said with a smile.

"Purchase?" Lewis asked.

"He came in with boxes and boxes of books! Made a tidy sum off me, I don't mind saying," the woman said. She seemed to notice James's distress now. "Everything all right, love?"

"Yeah, of course, mate," James said.

Lewis tensed. 'Mate' wasn't a good sign. He wanted to do something, to reach out or call James by name to keep him grounded, but he didn't know what to do. He didn't want to embarrass James, and he couldn't think of a way to try to call him back to himself that wouldn't embarrass him.

"I'll just go, then, shall I?" James said, jerking a thumb toward the door and exiting the shop without any preamble.

"Right," the woman said, looking bewildered.

Ordinarily, Lewis would've offered some assurance or some explanation, but this time all he gave the woman was an apologetic look before he raced out of the shop to keep up with James.

Luckily, James hadn't got far. Lewis found him leaning against the side of the building. He approached James warily, half expecting the lad to turn and run at the sight of him.

"She's right," James said, accent dipping back into the one he'd used in Scotland. "Sold her all those books. Dunno where they came from. Just found them in my car."

"They weren't yours?" Lewis asked.

James shook his head. "Never saw 'em before. And I needed money more than I needed books. Same with the clothes. Someone's posh suits in there. Sold those too. Then I had to go."

"Where?" 

"Anywhere. Away. Just…go." James stared into the middle distance, quiet and still. Too quiet. Too still.

"James?" In spite of Lewis's best efforts, his voice wobbled with nerves, and he silently berated himself for not being able to be stronger for his friend.

James blinked, then turned to look at Lewis. Lewis held his breath, fearing that blank look, that lack of recognition. But it didn't come.

"It's okay, sir," James said. His voice wasn't quite back to normal, which seemed to put him off slightly. "I'm…I'm okay. I remember a bit."

Lewis tried to look nonchalant and encouraging, but the remnants of being scared witless made it rough going. "Is that all right?"

"Mostly," James said. Then for the first time, he seemed to take in Lewis's demeanour, and his eyes widened. "Oh…I'm…"

"It's fine. I'm fine," Lewis said hurriedly.

James gave him a sceptical look. "I don't get to lie to you, but you can still lie to me?"

Ouch. Painful, but fair. Lewis took a deep breath, then let it out again. "I thought…I was…" _I was frightened. I was worried. I thought you'd got lost again and didn't know if you'd come back this time._ "If you were running, I was running with you this time."

The look in James's eyes was heartbreaking…soft and grateful and sorry and sad all at once. He rested a hand on Lewis's shoulder, leaning on him slightly to show he appreciated what Lewis had done…what Lewis would have done, if he'd had to.

"You don't…" James checked himself, waited, then decided to say what he'd planned to say. "You don't mind how I talk…do you?"

Lewis frowned. "What, you mean…when you're remembering?"

James nodded. "Is it important to you? How I sound?"

"It's important to me that you're safe," Lewis said quietly. _And that you remember me._ "Nothing else matters."

James gave a breathy little sigh, patting Lewis's shoulder for a moment in silent thanks. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Lewis followed.

***

_Lewis was eating a sarnie in his car when his mobile rang. He checked the screen to see who the call was from--Bill. With a sigh, Lewis wrapped what remained of his food, wiped his hands, and answered. "Hello?"_

_"Robbie? We've found James."_

_Lewis's heartbeat quickened. "You have? Where is he? Is he all right?"_

_A long silence. Too long. "Robbie…I'm so sorry."_

_The phone slipped from Lewis's fingers. He couldn't hold onto it somehow. He could barely breathe. No. Not James. Please, please, not James, please. He could still hear Bill talking as his mobile sat on the floor, the call not ended yet, but Lewis couldn't muster the energy to bend down and pick it up, to hear what else Bill might have to tell him._

_James was dead, and Lewis had failed him._

_Lewis slumped forward, guilt and grief squeezing his chest tight as if it had been in a vice, barely aware of the sounds he was making or what they meant. His fault. All his fault. Now James would never forgive him. What was broken between them would be broken forever. If he'd only paid more attention…_

Soft, warm arms surrounded Lewis, pulling him gently into an upright position. Though he had lived alone a while now, nighttime embraces were still familiar enough to Lewis that he didn't question them, and he moved comfortably into this one. Though he was a bit confused…hadn't he just been in the car? His throat felt raw, as though he'd been talking all day.

"Robbie, it's all right," a gentle voice whispered in his ear. "I'm here. It's all right."

The voice in question had never called him Robbie, so it took Lewis a moment to place it. 

"James," Lewis whispered hoarsely, nearly holding his breath in case it wasn't true, in case he'd made a mistake.

"I'm here," James said again, and there was a softness in his voice Lewis hadn't heard before.

Lewis wrapped his arms tightly around the other man, planting an impromptu kiss on his cheek. Warm. Breathing. Not dead. It had been a dream. James wasn't lost. There would be time to make amends…time to fix things. Lewis wanted to explain what had happened, why he was such a mess, but somehow nothing he thought of seemed to make it into words. He just clung more tightly to James. _Never leave me like that. Not like that, James, please._

James held him close and rocked him slightly back and forth. "It will be all right," he whispered. "I promise it will. You were dreaming something that wasn't real, but this is real. I'm here, and I'm…" He hesitated slightly, as though he wasn't sure what he'd planned to say was the right thing. "I'm safe."

Lewis nearly went limp with relief at the words. Yes. James was safe. If he was safe, everything was all right. "How did you know?"

James's hand hovered hesitantly over Lewis's back, as though he wanted to rub his back to comfort him but wasn't sure it would be appreciated. "Know what?"

"To wake me," Lewis said.

"I heard you," James said.

Ah. "I was talking?"

"You were calling me. A bit…emphatically."

That probably meant he'd sounded as frantic as he'd felt in the dream. Guilt clawed at Lewis. He'd probably frightened the lad. "I'm sorry."

"It was fine, once I'd worked out you weren't dying," James said. Then something seemed to occur to him, and he thought a long while before he spoke again. "I can't even imagine what this has been like for you." 

"Doesn't matter," Lewis said.

"No. Don't do that. It does matter. When I thought something had happened to you, I was…" He trailed off, evidently still uneasy about saying too much, about exposing too much of himself. "And that was only for a moment. You had three weeks of it."

Lewis shook his head. "I kept telling myself I had to find you. That was all I let myself think. I had to find you. The only time I thought about...about what might've happened...was when I was tired and couldn't stop myself thinking it."

"What did you do then?" James asked.

"Drank more coffee so I wouldn't be tired anymore." He'd had to assume James was there to bring home because he couldn't face the alternative. Not that he'd be sharing that with James any time soon.

"I understand if you don't believe it," James said quietly, "but I would never have chosen to put you through this."

"I know that," Lewis said. And he did. James hated being out of control--he was so careful not to be--and this was the ultimate loss of control, wasn't it? Losing hold of yourself?

"At the book shop today...you thought it was going to happen again, didn't you?"

Lewis grimaced. "I thought it might."

"So did I." James's voice was barely audible.

"Can I ask...how does it feel?" Lewis asked. "When it happens."

"As though I'm slipping and I can't get any purchase." 

Lewis nodded. He didn't think there was anything useful he could say; if James was willing to talk (and he so rarely was), Lewis could listen.

"I don't want to be like this." The barest whisper.

Lewis patted James's back gently. "I know."

Slowly, tentatively, James bent down and rested his head on Lewis's shoulder. He was so shy, so careful about asking for comfort. Lewis hugged James closer, gently.

"I'm here, lad," Lewis said quietly, echoing James's earlier words to him. _And I'll find you whenever you need finding._


	4. No Need to Sparkle

The morning he'd scheduled his meeting with Innocent, James woke up with shaking hands. By the time he'd got dressed, his whole body was shaking with such force that he thought it might rattle itself into its component parts. He sat on the edge of the bed and tried deep breathing exercises, but even when he was breathing more slowly, he could only mute his shaking to a still-noticeable tremble.

He couldn't go to the nick like this. He couldn't let everyone see what a wreck he still was. He'd been gone for a month now, and although he didn't know what they knew about why he had gone, he knew they would draw their own conclusions if he came back twitching uncontrollably. People always thought they knew the reasons for things, and they weren't afraid to take their own opinions for fact.

Not that the truth was much better. "I had a catastrophic mental breakdown such that I lost complete touch with my identity and my memories and ran away to Scotland" would hardly inspire faith in him, would it? Shit, why had he agreed to go back? Why had he ever thought he could? Things were so different now. He was so different. And people would notice, and he'd notice them noticing, and he had no idea if he had the capacity to protect himself as he used to.

A knock at the door. "James?"

James shuddered, bending forward, arms on his knees, head down. He should answer, but he didn't know what to say.

Another knock, louder this time. "James? I'm coming in. If you're not dressed, this is your chance to cover up."

"I'm dressed," James managed faintly.

Lewis entered, immediately coming to sit on the bed beside James. "All right?"

James shook his head, a fresh bout of trembling overtaking him. Once he would have been embarrassed to admit as much to Lewis...to admit he wasn't anything but perfectly fine...but there was a new normal between them now. Lewis already knew James was struggling; there was no further embarrassment to be had. Now it was a matter of degree--how not all right was he--though Lewis very kindly insisted on asking the question as though there might be a chance James was all right. James was grateful for that.

Lewis rested a gentle hand on James's upper back, a silent gesture that offered _Tell me._

"I don't think I can do this," James whispered, and that was its own shame. He had once prided himself on being able to handle anything, any problem, alone. Now it seemed as though his life had turned into a series of admissions of failure.

Lewis nodded. "Right. I'll ring Innocent, tell her we're not coming in."

James lifted his head and stared at Lewis in surprise. "What?"

"I said, I'll..." Lewis began.

"No, I heard what you said." James studied Lewis's face suspiciously. "You're not going to try to talk me into going?"

Lewis shook his head. "Not if you don't want to. I told you, James, you don't have to go back to policing for me or anyone else. If you don't want it, we'll find something else for you to do."

James nodded. "I've changed. And..." He shook his head. "It's stupid."

"No such thing," Lewis said, silently encouraging him to go on if he wanted to. Lewis always encouraged him to talk if he felt like it; that was another thing James should thank him for.

"I don't want to go back to who I was," James said. Because who he'd been had thought everything was fine and that he was fine, until he'd plunged helplessly over the edge. It was difficult to admit to himself, but...despite what he'd thought at the time, now James could see he hadn't been coping all that well. And if it hadn't worked before, no reason to think it should work now either.

Lewis nodded. "I'll only say this once, James, but...I think you're a lot stronger than you think you are."

James laughed, a bitter, choked sound. "Oh, yes, I'm a pillar of strength." He gestured to himself, hands still shaking.

"It takes strength to be able to say no," Lewis said. "To know what your limits are and to admit to them...it's a way to protect yourself, lad."

"It doesn't feel that way," James said.

"No. Sometimes it doesn't." Lewis patted James's back. "But I'm proud of you."

"That doesn't make any sense," James protested. He wanted to bask in the praise; he really did, but… "How can you be proud of me for something I can't do?"

Lewis was silent for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat. "There's only one person who's ever heard this story. When I started in vice, the main thing we dealt with was drugs. There was a bit of the kerb crawling stuff, but generally, what we were most worried about were the drugs. I'd been there a year and a half, maybe two years, and someone decided we should see to this particular warehouse where we'd heard there'd been a lot of drug activity lately. After the first group went in to clear out the people, I was sent in with the second group to collect the merchandise. I was checking behind a staircase when I found this girl." Lewis's voice wobbled, but he carried on telling the story. "She was young. Might've been in her teens but didn't look more than 13. She'd overdosed. I couldn't move. Just stood there. And I thought, this isn't a fight I can win. I can't stop this happening. And it wasn't just kids. I knew there'd be other people at their lowest, doing anything for a fix. And no matter how much I could confiscate, there'd always be more. New addicts every day, and nothing I could do about it. No way to make it right for anyone." 

James nodded. "That must've been difficult." He couldn't imagine being in such a situation…and Lewis had encountered it so early in his career.

"That's when I knew I couldn't manage," Lewis said quietly. "I'd have to do something else. There's no sense doing something that'll get the best of you in the end." He shook his head. "It's hard to say, 'This is too much.' It's hard for me. So I know what it takes to be able to say it. And that's not weakness, lad. That's why I'm proud of you."

James nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed. He leaned against Lewis, who put an arm round his shoulders. "It's really all right?"

Lewis nodded. "It's really all right."

James sighed. "Okay."

It took him a few minutes to realise his hands had stopped shaking.

***

"So," Lewis said, after he'd called Innocent and had explained to her that they wouldn't be coming in that morning after all, "do you want to talk about what you might like to do?"

James shrugged. Every time he thought about what he might do, the future seemed to stretch before him in some vast unknowable grey fog. Try as he might, he could never see his way through it.

"Seems like maybe you want something a bit different," Lewis suggested.

 _Yes. Somewhere people don't know me,_ James thought, but he couldn't say that, because somewhere people didn't know him was also somewhere away from Lewis, and James didn't want to give Lewis the wrong impression. If Lewis had been the only person James ever had to see at the nick, he could've gone back there with relative equanimity.

"I think different could be good," James said instead.

Lewis nodded. "Any ideas?"

"I want something where I don't have any authority." The sentence seemed to spill out of James; he wasn't sure where it had come from, but it was true enough. "I want to do something easy for a while."

Lewis nodded. Then he nudged James's arm with his own. "What about music?"

"What about it?"

"You know all about music. What about a job in a shop?"

James smiled slightly. "Selling CDs and things? You want me to live the story of _High Fidelity_?"

"No," Lewis said, "and anyway, you're nicer than that bloke."

James's smile widened. "Thank you."

"I wasn't thinking CDs," Lewis said, "though you could if you like. I was thinking…what do you play in your band? Guitar? What about working in a guitar shop?"

Oh! James thought about that for a moment. Could he work in a guitar shop, helping people choose the right musical equipment? He'd never done it before, but music was a particular interest of his, and he thought he'd have enough knowledge to be able to manage it.

"I think I might like that," James said, a bit amazed by the idea. "But I would imagine the guitar shop salesperson market is somewhat limited."

"I can make enquiries," Lewis said. "Used to play cricket with a bloke had a guitar shop. Couldn't hurt to ask if he needs a bit of extra help."

James had no idea how to express his gratitude. Lewis had already done so much for him. "Cheers."

"If we can get you doing something, you can take the time to think about whether you'd like to carry on doing that or find something else to do," Lewis said. "What d'you reckon?"

James nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think that would be…good." He glanced at Lewis. "I'm sorry I won't…won't be working with you."

Lewis shrugged. "Suppose I'll retire before too long anyway."

James felt a stab of guilt. "Because of me?"

Lewis looked startled. "No! Because I'm bloody old."

James laughed at that.

"Go ahead. Laugh. Your time will come, young man," Lewis said, affecting an exaggerated 'old man' voice and wagging his finger at James.

That made James laugh again. Lewis grinned and looked rather proud of himself, and suddenly James wondered if Lewis had been trying all this time to cheer him up.

"I'm sure I've been a difficult houseguest," James said apologetically.

"No," Lewis said with a decisive shake of his head. "Mark's a difficult houseguest. He eats everything in the kitchen and doesn't tell anyone about it until we discover the cupboard is bare. You're all right."

"Thank you, but I think I should probably find a place of my own so I can get out of your way," James said.

"You're not in my way. I would tell you if you were. I'm…" Lewis cut himself short, considering what he was about to say before he said it. Then he offered quietly, "It's good not to live alone."

Privately,that was how James felt about it too. It had been such a relief to have someone there with him to pull him from his thoughts when he needed it. "You would tell me if I stayed too long."

"You'd come home to find your things in a van," Lewis said with a grin.

James smiled and nodded. "All right. Long as I'm not putting you out."

"I'm not shy, James. I'd tell you," Lewis said. "Go if you like; stay if you like. I want you to do what you want because you want to do it, not for any other reason."

 _You're so good about this. How can you be so good?_ For the first week, James had asked this question nearly every day. He asked it less often now, but it hadn't entirely left his mind. 

What James had come to understand about Lewis, although he still found it a bit incredible, was that Lewis wanted to know the real him. No one else had ever gotten close enough to be able to tell the difference between the real James and the public James, or even that there was a difference. But Lewis had. Lewis knew, and not only that, he preferred the imperfect reality to the superficial but trouble-free fiction. 

It all felt a bit overwhelming for James at times, knowing there was someone he didn't need to hide from. He could be sad or cross or barely able to function, but Lewis was still there. He didn't leave. He didn't mind. Strangely, James felt Lewis almost liked him better like this; they seemed to be closer now than they had ever been before Portobello. James knew he still wasn't an open book to Lewis, but Lewis wasn't an open book to him either.

Although…James felt incredibly flattered that Lewis had told him that story about his own early policing experience in vice. That was a sort of opening up that James had never seen Lewis do before, and he suspected that the one other person who had heard that story had been Lewis's wife. Lewis felt able to tell James something incredibly private and personal, and James recognised that for what it was--a sign of friendship, yes, but also a sign of trust. And he knew that if he ever felt able to unburden himself about things…about his early life, about his own fears and failures…Lewis would be there, ready to listen. Ready to trust. Perhaps it was a strange thing to think, but James didn't want to leave before that moment came. When he felt ready to show himself, he wanted Lewis to be there.

"I'd like to stay," James said quietly.

Lewis nodded. "Long as you help with the rent and groceries when you're working."

James smiled. "I think that's more than fair."

Lewis smiled back at him. "I'd be glad to have you."

James rested a hand on Lewis's shoulder, and Lewis patted Hathaway's hand where it rested.

This was enough, James thought. For now…this would be enough.


	5. Matches Struck Unexpectedly in the Dark

Lewis's cricketing friend came through and found a place for James in his guitar shop.

"Not full time, mind," Lewis warned him, "but you can come in for at least a few hours every day if you want."

James nodded. He seemed so much calmer, somehow, now that he knew he didn't have to go back to policing if he didn't want to. Lewis was grateful for that, grateful that James seemed to be settling into his new life, even as Lewis knew he would miss having the lad round the nick. He very selfishly didn't want to share his office with anyone else, and he wondered if he would give whoever he was assigned as a sergeant a right bollocking on occasion for not being James. He suspected it would happen at least once.

"I'll be glad to have work to do," James said.

Lewis nodded. "I'll have to get back to work as well. We can go in together in the mornings; I'll take you. Though I don't know what you'll do on days you finish ahead of me."

"The Central Library's within comfortable walking distance," James said. "I'm sure I can find something to do at a library."

Lewis laughed. "Aye, I'm sure you can. Does that seem all right?"

James nodded. Then he reached out hesitantly and touched Lewis's arm. "Thank you. For doing this for me."

Lewis gave James's hand a pat and didn't say anything. He didn't need to say anything, just as James technically didn't need to say anything to show his appreciation. They knew each other well enough to be nearly wordless by now…although one of the benefits of James coming to feel more comfortable around Lewis was that he did talk more. Not always about important things, but then, not all conversations had to be important. And sometimes James surprised him.

One night, they were watching telly, and James said out of nowhere, "I'm not actually posh."

Lewis glanced at him, trying not to look shocked that James had volunteered personal information of his own accord. "How do you mean?"

"My father was the manager of this place in Oxford. Crevecoeur?"

Lewis nodded. "I know of it. Never been there."

James nodded. "I lived there till I was twelve and went away to school. I wasn't…embarrassed by my father's work. He always thought I was. It was more that…I didn't want to grow up to be him."

There was still a great deal unspoken there. What about James's mother? Where had she gone? And what about James's father? He didn't exactly sound like the warm, paternal type. And James not wanting to be like his father didn't speak very highly of him either. Lewis didn't need to push, though. He was surprised to know this much.

"Scholarship boy, then?" Lewis asked.

James nodded, looking just the tiniest bit proud. "I worked hard." He hesitated, then added, "The way I spoke marked me as an outsider. So I changed it."

Lewis knew very well from his own experiences growing up how young boys were with anyone they felt didn't belong. Children were the same the world over, posh or not. "The way you talked during the fugue, then…"

James nodded. "That's…my old voice, I suppose. With no memory, I had no reason to hide it."

Lewis was aware how deeply James was trusting him by sharing this…and he wondered if James knew how much he was revealing. But of course Lewis couldn't make a fuss over it, and never would, because if he did, he suspected James would get embarrassed and pull back into himself and never do it again. And…Lewis wanted to know about James. He wanted James to know it was all right to share things like this, to tell his own stories in his own time.

James's earlier question about Lewis minding his other accent stood out in sharp relief now. He hadn't been asking if Lewis minded the way he talked, not really. He'd been asking if Lewis minded him…who he was underneath. Lewis was suddenly glad he'd given the answer he had…he might so easily have said the wrong thing and shut himself away from James forever without knowing it.

"Well," Lewis said, "I like any voice you've got. Though I don't say I won't laugh if you've got an intentionally silly one." He did this sometimes when he sensed the conversation might be weighing on James…gave him an escape route through humour, if he wanted one.

Apparently James did, because he adopted a wobbly falsetto. "I can't think what you mean!" And they both had a laugh.

***

James had been right. The work was good for him. Over the next few weeks, Lewis could see James begin to relax into his new life. He seemed excited to get to work in the mornings, and would tell interesting and funny stories about people who'd come into the shop during the day when Lewis was bringing him home in the evenings. And (Lewis would never tell him this) the posh accent had begun to relax too, into something Lewis suspected was closer to a 'natural' voice for James. James was relearning how to be himself.

James seemed happier, and what was even better than that was that his happiness felt genuine. Sometimes, when they'd worked together, James had told a funny story or made a cheery observation, and it had been…more to come across as a certain type of person than because he really felt cheerful or liked the story. It had taken Lewis a long time to recognise this, and really, he'd only fully recognised it after the disaster of the McEwan case. James wanting to seem cheery was not the same as James actually being cheery.

Lewis wouldn't have called James in his present state cheery exactly. He wasn't sure James had it in him to be cheery. But James did seem content…as though he liked his life now and liked certain things about it. It was a quieter form of happiness, and maybe no one besides Lewis would have recognised it for what it was. Lewis wondered if that was one reason James hadn't wanted to go back to work at the nick…because he had feared people would misinterpret the differences in him. And Lewis, knowing the nick as he did, wasn't at all sure James hadn't been correct in his assessment. He was a clever lad.

The nick was different without James there. Lewis had been assigned a new sergeant who was very kind and very friendly and had a family, and on bad days, the constant optimism was almost intolerable. Lewis wondered if this was how he'd made Morse feel, and then was immediately sorry he'd thought of it, because bloody hell, was he turning into Morse? He'd have to check he didn't correct anyone's grammar or start listening to Maria Callas. Or, and this was probably the most likely option, start drinking more heavily.

"Can I ask you something?" James asked one night over dinner.

Lewis nodded. "Course you can."

James shifted his expression through a few awkward faces before saying, "You never talk about work. And…I just…if you're protecting me, you don't have to. I miss the work, and I miss working with you, but it won't…it shouldn't…give me a panic attack just to hear what you do in a day."

Lewis had, in fact, been avoiding talking about work for that very reason, and felt slightly ashamed that he'd been so transparent. "What do you want to know?"

"Who's your new sergeant?" James asked.

"Her name's Julie Lockhart. Just made sergeant. Very nice. Got pictures of her family all over your…her desk." Whoops.

James noticed the mistake. "Must make a change."

Lewis nodded. "It does. Sometimes I catch myself being as sharp with her as Morse was with me."

"For good reason?" James asked.

Lewis shook his head. "There is no good reason. There's no reason not to be nice to someone you work with every day." He sighed. "I never used to have such a short temper."

"Yes, you did," James said, looking very amused.

Lewis looked at him in surprise. "No, I didn't!"

"You don't remember me interrupting you and Dr Hobson when you first arrived and the way you shouted at me?"

Embarrassingly, Lewis didn't. "…did I shout at you?"

"I didn't even bother to say anything. Just left the room. I assumed you'd be ready to talk to me when you got out of there."

"I hope I apologised, at least."

James gave him a look that clearly meant he hadn't.

Lewis grimaced. "Well, I'll apologise now. Sorry."

"I didn't say it to embarrass you. I only wanted to point out that you didn't magically develop a short temper with DS Lockhart." James paused, then added quietly, "And I think your temper shortens when you're dealing with change."

The observation hit Lewis like a physical blow, and for a moment, he couldn't say anything at all. Too right. Too bloody right.

James sounded worried. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"You're right," Lewis said. "You are. And it does make a change, being back without you." He glared at James. "And don't you dare take that remark as an indication that you've got to quit your job and come back to policing, because I won't have it!"

James looked simultaneously abashed and amused. "All right."

"Is that what you were thinking?" Lewis asked.

"Maybe a bit," James said. "Sometimes I miss the work…miss working with you." He shook his head. "But when I think about going back, something always stops me. It's not right somehow. It doesn't fit. Where I am now is right."

"I'm glad," Lewis said quietly.

"And I think it's helped," James said. "Being here. Because it meant I didn't have to give up police work and you all at once."

Lewis was moved by the observation, which was an unusually honest expression of emotion for James. James needed him. It was good to know that. It was good of James to tell him that. Lewis nodded, not able to respond.

"Are you all right?" James asked.

He was fine. He was. He just felt suddenly that…it had meant something, then. Finding James and bringing him back and trying to help him all this time, it had all meant something if James could be here and sit here and tell him he'd needed him…that Lewis had helped after all. It had been difficult sometimes to know if he'd been doing the right thing, and…Christ, was he going to cry? He wasn't. He couldn't.

James pushed his chair back from the table and was beside Lewis in a moment. "Robbie…" He hugged him tightly.

_James._ Lewis couldn't even say that much. He hugged James in return, and yes, he was going to cry. Bugger.

"What's wrong?" James asked.

Lewis made an effort to pull himself together. "N-nothing's wrong," he whispered. "You're all right, and you're here…nothing's wrong at all."

"Oh," James said, a note of understanding in his voice. Lewis hoped James really did understand, because there was nothing on earth that would allow Lewis to explain what he was feeling in words. It was too much for that.

James's lips brushed Lewis's cheek, shy but affectionate, and somehow Lewis knew instinctively that James's eyes were closed, that he always closed his eyes when he kissed someone. Lewis hugged James a bit more tightly, sure that James did understand now.

_Yes,_ he thought. _I love you too._


	6. The Beauty of the World

James enjoyed his work at the guitar shop; helping people choose the right instruments was interesting and engaging. However, after the weeks had worn on, James found himself getting a bit…bored.

It was no one's fault. James had specifically wanted a job that wouldn't be challenging, that would ease him back into everyday life, and this job had done that nicely. He'd been able to find his feet working with different types of people without any expectations from them other than that he'd help them in the shop, and that had been wonderful. But he felt he was ready to move on now.

He also had an idea what he wanted to do next. He did want to get back to policing, but he wanted to do it in a very specific way, and he wasn't sure Lewis would like his idea. He would probably still do it even if Lewis didn't like it, but…he was worried about causing a rift between them, especially since they'd been so close lately. He liked the closeness. He didn't want it to vanish because of a decision he'd made.

But by the same token, James knew he couldn't sneak around and then surprise Lewis with his already-accomplished task, because that would be just as bad as the McEwan case and everything he'd done then. He was finished hiding. He had to trust that Lewis would accept his decisions just as much as Lewis had accepted him…though sometimes it was hard to believe.

"I have to tell you something," he said at dinner one night.

"Go on," Lewis said.

"I've been thinking about what to do next," James said, poking his food with his fork, too nervous to eat. "I want to come back to police work but I don't think I can do it here. Not yet. I was thinking I'd meet with Innocent and…if everything works out, I'd like to request a secondment. To get back into the job where no one knows me. Once I know I can do it somewhere else, I think I'll feel better able to do it here."

Lewis nodded. "Sounds like you've thought a lot about this."

"I have," James said, his stomach crawling with nerves. "But I wanted to talk to you about it first so it wouldn't come as a surprise or…" He swallowed hard.

Lewis looked at him analytically. "You thought I'd ask you not to?"

"I thought you might see it as me wanting to be away from you," James said. "Which it isn't. I just…I need…"

"You don't have to defend yourself to me," Lewis said. "I think it's a good idea."

James was surprised. "You do?"

Lewis nodded. "Remember who you're talking to. I had to get away from Oxford meself. And I think it did help."

James was relieved Robbie seemed to understand. "I think if I'm away for a while…I won't feel as scrutinised when I go back. People won't remember me as well, and there could be some new people working there who wouldn't know me at all. I need the distance."

Lewis smiled. "Sounds like you've already made your decision. You don't need my input."

"No, I do," James said. "I've…I…" Spit it out, Hathaway. "We're in this together, you and I. It matters what you think about it…how you feel about it." _How you feel about me now that I've said it._

Lewis's expression softened, and he stood up, crossing to James and resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's not always easy for me, James, but I've tried to stand out of your way so you could decide what you wanted. And you should know that I'm with you whatever decision you make. If you think a secondment is a good idea, so do I."

James touched Lewis's hand. "Thank you."

Lewis's voice thickened with emotion. "That doesn't mean I won't miss you."

James stood and hugged Lewis tightly. "I'll miss you too." Lewis had become part of his life in the weeks and months since James's fugue, and James couldn't imagine that changing. Lewis had given James the confidence to begin to live his own life again…the confidence to do what he felt was right…and, in a way, the confidence to face life alone for a while, knowing that it would be safe this time, knowing that he didn't have to be afraid of losing himself again.

"When you come back, there's always a place here for you," Lewis said. "If you want it."

"Of course I…" James pulled back to look at Lewis. "Why would you think I wouldn't want to come back?"

Lewis ran a hand down Hathaway's arm, avoiding meeting his eyes. "You're all well now. You don't need me."

James was genuinely shocked. He shook his head. "It's nothing to do with me being ill or well or anywhere in between. I do need you. And I will."

Lewis didn't say anything. He just rested a hand on James's arm, and James realised Lewis was reassuring himself…that he was just as attached to James as James was to him. Maybe more.

"I'll come back to you," James said quietly. "I promise."

Lewis nodded but still didn't speak, which meant he was feeling particularly emotional. James took Lewis into his arms and held him close.

"I promise, Robbie," he whispered.

***

It was strange being back in the Oxford nick, but James felt oddly at ease there, knowing he wasn't coming to work in the usual way. And he'd put enough distance between himself and what had happened that he didn't feel everyone's eyes were following him as he walked through, or that they were talking about him the moment he left the room.

After his meeting with Innocent, James went directly to Lewis's office. "Hello, stranger."

Lewis looked up and smiled. "James." He gestured to the desk across…James's old desk. It did give James a bit of a twinge to see it occupied by someone else. "This is DS Lockhart."

Lockhart smiled, standing and offering James a hand. "Sir."

"No, you…don't 'sir' me, please," James said, grimacing slightly at the idea. "I'm pleased to meet you and I see Inspector Lewis is in good hands."

Lockhart beamed. "Thank you."

"I was wondering if I might steal him from you for a quick lunch," James said.

Lockhart laughed. "I think that can be arranged. I'll finish the paperwork, sir…you go to lunch."

"Do you want me to bring you anything?" Lewis asked.

Lockhart shook her head. "Brought my own today. But thanks."

Lewis was clearly bursting with curiosity, but he managed to restrain himself until they'd reached the cafe. "So?"

"There's an open post with the Royal Gibraltar Police," James said. "Provided I go through the various bureaucratic steps, she's willing to recommend me for it."

Lewis nodded. "How long?"

"A year." That was the part that seemed difficult to James…being away from Lewis for an entire year. Somehow he hadn't thought about the reality of what it would mean to go away until now. "If you wanted…" No. Stupid.

"What?" Lewis asked.

"You could visit me," James said.

Lewis looked quietly delighted by the idea. "I'd like that. And we could email. If you had the time."

"Of course I'll have time," James said. "It'll be faster than sending postcards." He was really doing this, wasn't he? Suddenly it seemed overwhelming.

Lewis reached across the table and covered James's hand with his. "You'll do very well."

James gave Lewis what he suspected was a slightly nervous look. "It seems a lot to take in now that it's happening."

"But you did it because you thought it would be good for you," Lewis said. "Do you still think it will be?"

James nodded. It would be difficult and frightening, but…yes. He thought it would be worth it.

"Then that's all that matters," Lewis said.

James didn't think he'd ever be able to tell Lewis what having his support had meant to James…still meant. It was such a joy to know there was someone who believed in you no matter what you did…even when he had seen you at your worst, which Lewis certainly had. And James suspected it was harder for Lewis than he would ever say to see James go, even temporarily.

James said none of this. Instead, he gave Lewis a tentative smile, which Lewis returned.

***

"Thank you for driving me to the airport," James said.

"Well, I wanted to see you off properly," Lewis said. He seemed extra gruff this morning, which James knew meant he was feeling a bit emotional…perhaps a bit sad.

"I'll be back before you know it," James said, trying not to show how much he would miss Lewis, because then he'd be upset and Lewis would be upset, and what would the point of that be?

"I'll be here," Lewis said, a note of wistfulness in his voice.

James expected Lewis to pull up in front of the airport, but instead Lewis parked and got out. "I'm coming in with you."

They walked together in silence to the security entrance, and then James turned reluctantly to Lewis. "Well…"

And suddenly, before he could say anything more, James found himself nearly crushed in a fierce bear hug. After his initial shock, he hugged Lewis back, marvelling at the depth of feeling in Lewis that showed itself in unexpected ways and at unexpected times.

"You take care of yourself, lad," Lewis whispered.

"You too," James said. "I don't want to come back here and find you've lost twenty pounds."

Lewis managed a shaky chuckle. "I promise only to gain weight."

James chuckled in turn. Then he tightened his embrace. "Everything you've done for me…" _I'll never forget it. I'll never be able to repay you. I love you._

Lewis patted James's back gently; he always understood what hadn't been said. Then, reluctantly, he said, "Don't miss your plane, bonny lad."

James pulled back just as reluctantly. "No." He suddenly wished Lewis were coming with him. "I'll see you in Gibraltar?"

Lewis nodded, and James knew they could both feel that the longer they stayed, the harder it was for either one of them to go. James took a deep breath. "Right. See you soon."

"Be safe," Lewis said, voice cracking on the last word, and James almost dropped everything and promised to stay at that. But his ticket was paid for, and the police in Gibraltar were waiting for him. James gave Lewis a little nod and then headed for security.

When he got through security, he looked back, and Lewis was still there, silently watching him. Then Lewis raised a hand to wave goodbye, and James waved in return.

It was hard to turn his back and go. The only reason James could do it was because he knew he'd be home again before too long.

In the meantime, he had a lot to do.


	7. Some Little Language

_Dear Robbie,_

_Here I am in Gibraltar. You'll know that already, of course, because I phoned you soon as I got here, but I wanted to send a quick email so you'd have something waiting from me the next time you check yours. It's bloody hot here and very sunny; I can already tell I'm going to be sunburnt half the time. Pity those of us with unchecked pallor._

_James_

**James,**

**Thanks for the email. It was a nice surprise this morning. I read it through three times and it was almost like hearing you talk to me. The flat is quiet without you.**

**Can't tell you about the case we're working, but it's a strange one. Wonder what you'd think of it. They putting you to work down there? And what's this about pallor. I'm almost as pale as you. Be grateful you never saw me in swimming shorts in my youth.**

**Robbie**

_Dear Robbie,_

_Woke up in the middle of the night last night and didn't know where I was. Had a moment of panic before I realised I'd come here on purpose. What added to the panic was I couldn't hear you snoring. I've got used to it somehow._

_They are putting me to work, in fact. They've been very welcoming. I don't always feel at my ease among new people but I'm doing my best. Can't tell you about my cases either. But we'll have a lot to talk about when we're together again._

_In the matter of the swimming shorts, please send visual documentation for clarification purposes._

_James_

**James,**

**Want me to record myself snoring and send it to you? I know what you mean though. I keep making too much coffee in the mornings…enough for both of us.**

**You did fine with new people at the guitar shop. I'm sure you'll do fine with new people where you are now. I'm trying to arrange a holiday so I can come to see you…aiming for about the six-month mark for you so you'll have a visit from me right in the middle. If this won't work, just say.**

**In the matter of the swimming shorts, ha bloody ha.**

**Robbie**

_Dear Robbie,_

_If I thought you were serious about the snoring, I'd say yes. I'll just have to find a roommate down here who snores. Or get a dog that snores. Or a lizard. Can lizards snore? I've never heard them do it but I suppose that doesn't mean they can't. I admit I haven't spent much time with lizards._

_I understand about the coffee. I keep beginning to make you breakfast even though you've never been here._

_I'd love to see you whenever you want to come. I don't care when it is. Come every other weekend if you want._

_In the matter of the swimming shorts, I reiterate my request for visual documentation. Preferably of the audiovisual variety, although a static photograph would also suffice._

_James_

**James,**

**No idea about lizards. You think about strange things sometimes.**

**I wonder if you think if you keep making me breakfast, one day I'll be there to eat it? That's what it's like with the coffee.**

**Wish I could come every other weekend, but Innocent would probably frown on the eighth callout I answered with 'Sorry, ma'am, I'm in Gibraltar.' Nice thought though.**

**Are you taking the piss about the swimming shorts? Can't imagine why you'd want to see a picture of me in them. Unless you're doing what they did in the war and putting a picture of your sweetheart in your locker. And if me in swimming shorts is your idea of a pin-up, you're in worse trouble than I thought.**

**Robbie**

_Dear Robbie,_

_I do think about strange things sometimes. No getting round it._

_Is that how it works? If I make breakfast often enough, will you magically appear? In that case, I'll make it twice a day and watch for you._

_You don't have to come every other weekend. Just come when you can. I want to see you._

_I realised the other day I don't have any pictures of you. Could you send me one? You don't have to be wearing swimming shorts._

_James_

**James,**

**Been trying to magically appear but no luck. Letter from Hogwarts hasn't come yet. Will let you know when it does.**

**I'll come soon as I can, lad. I want to see you too.**

**Since you said I don't have to be wearing swimming shorts, I assume you want to see me starkers and have scheduled a photo shoot this Saturday involving me and a bear skin rug. Very tasteful.**

**Robbie**

_Dear Robbie,_

_I haven't received my letter from Hogwarts either. I'm beginning to suspect the entire Hogwarts admissions process is something of a racket. This disappoints me, as polyjuice potion would be very useful for undercover work (if disgusting)._

_I'm looking forward to it._

_I eagerly await your bear skin rug photograph and will enlarge it to poster size and display it above my desk._

_James_

**James,**

**Not surprised I'm a Muggle but very surprised you are. Wonder if the owl that keeps waiting outside the flat here is meant for you. Next time I see him I'll direct him to Gibraltar.**

**Unfortunately the photographer's had a bear skin rug accident and won't be able to hold a photo shoot after all. I'm making arrangements with the Bodleian for the use of their stacks and a strategically-placed Shakespeare folio.**

**Robbie**

_Dear Robbie,_

_The owl arrived today. Many thanks. Unfortunately, he wasn't a Hogwarts owl, just a barn owl, so no invitation to Hogwarts was forthcoming. On the bright side, I do now have a dead field mouse adorning my windowsill._

_Forget the Shakespeare folio. Please just send me a picture of you. I don't care how old it is or what you look like in it. I just want to have something of yours with me._

_James_

**James,**

**Where do you come up with these things? You should write children's books.**

**Sorry I ignored you about the picture--thought you were taking the piss still and didn't realize you actually wanted one. I've had Gurdip show me how to do these attachment things and hopefully there's a picture attached to this email, if I've done it right. It's you and me at Hastings' retirement do. You're even smiling.**

**Robbie**

_Dear Robbie,_

_I'm afraid I'll never be a children's book author. I failed my course at the Lemony Snicket Institute of Fantastical Whimsy. Don't tell anyone._

_Yes, the picture came through. Thank you. And you're right; it's a good picture. I'm glad it's one of us together. When I'm back in Oxford, we'll have to take more of those._

_I miss you._

_James_

**James,**

**I miss you too.**

**Robbie**

_Dear Robbie,_

_As I write this, you've just arrived and are upstairs snoring away. So I suppose you're getting this letter from the past, by the time you'll read it. It was such a surprise to hear you were at the airport. I was happy. I am happy. I'm so glad you're here._

_I think you know this already, but I love you._

_James_

**James,**

**It was good to see you. Can't believe it's over already and that I'm back in Oxford. Thanks for showing me around Gibraltar…beautiful down there, isn't it? Liked getting to meet the coppers you work with too. A good lot. Wish I were back in that past you wrote me from, where I was snoring upstairs. I've attached the pictures I took of you and me and us. So you'll have more now.**

**I did know. But it's nice to hear it. I love you too.**

**Robbie**


	8. Epilogue

The first thing James saw upon entering the public area of the airport was Robbie holding a sign with a neatly inked "Hathaway" on the front. He smiled and waved to him. Robbie held his sign above his head, smiling broadly as James approached.

"Are you for me?" James asked with a grin, remembering their first conversation in this airport.

"If you're Sergeant Hathaway," Robbie said, still smiling.

James had worried that coming back to Oxford would be like returning to the site of a disaster, but it didn't feel that way. He didn't feel anxious being here. He didn't feel terrified. His hands weren't shaking. Instead, Robbie was waiting for James, and James was…well, he was home. And it wasn't Oxford that was home; it was Robbie.

"It's good to see you," Robbie said quietly, his voice suffused with warmth.

"It's good to see you too," James said, hoping Robbie understood what it meant to James to have Robbie here, waiting for his return. To have someone glad that he'd come back. James couldn't say that, and maybe he'd never be able to, but he reached out to Robbie, taking his hand.

"Home, James," Robbie said, and the tenderness in his words nearly took Hathaway's breath away. "I've always wanted to say that."

James gave Robbie's hand an understanding squeeze and followed him outside, where Oxford was waiting for them.


End file.
